“Do it!” she ordered.
He gasped, thrust his arms out as reality set in, then gasped again. In a matter of seconds, it was over.
He was slowly lowered to the ground, mouth gaping open in stunned surprise. But there were no words, only that last gasping sound as blood seeped out onto the floor of the forest...
One
OLD LODGE, SCOTLAND
The contrastof Scotland to the Sahara was startling, with its jagged slate peaks, the marshy bogs, double rainbows on late misty mornings, and the thick pine forest.
It could also be wild, forbidding, just as primitive in its own way, yet it was a refuge of sorts, a place where I had been raised as a child, along with the more cultured environs of London and other far places that I had traveled.
But it was here where I could pull on trousers and tall boots and lose myself to the calming silence amidst the rolling hills that lay beneath those jagged peaks.
Usually.
“Look what I found!”
My companion for my morning hike through the forest came running quite excited along the path we followed. Old Lodge, that formidable old hunting lodge, was tucked into the base of one of those peaks. With its legends and stories of smugglers, highwaymen, and that spectacular whisky distillery my great-aunt’s father had established some years before.
It was also a place of hasty decisions. My own, that is, in what appears to have possibly been a rash moment, and I am not usually given to rash moments.
The north of Scotland could be unpredictable due to the changing season, and the roads which were almost non-existent when rain set in for days at a time.
It had been overcast most of the morning, the clouds pulling back at midday, then returning by late afternoon with that misty rain that was referred to as a fine soft rain.
Thatfine soft rainhad soaked us both.
“What have you there?” I asked Lily, my ward, who had traveled to the Sahara these months past with my great-aunt and me.
She had been born in Scotland, although the year and her true family were mostly unknown. We had met during a previous inquiry case when she had worked as a lady’s maid in an Edinburgh brothel known as the Church, and had surprisingly provided assistance. Not to mention that she had undoubtedly saved my life, or in the very least assisted Brodie in the matter that led to the solving of the case.
Afterward, I refused to simply leave her to the one prospect for her future in a brothel, and offered to bring her to London, provide an education, and hopefully a future far different from the one in the Church. She had eventually accepted my offer.
So here we were, trudging along the footpath together back to Old Lodge. I had taken her to all my old favorite places to explore in the woods. It did appear that she had retrieved something from the gap in the base of the juniper tree where I had gone exploring at very much her age. Although sadly, she had no way of knowing what her true age was.
“It was what mistress at the Church told me when I first went to live there,” she had said with a shrug at the time.
It was as close to being a mother as I would ever get, after being told I could never bear children after a particularly nasty illness as a child. And I was quite agreeable with that, as I had never been fond of infants no matter whom they belonged to.
A shortcoming, for certain, for most women. However, the truth was that I enjoyed having Lily as part of our somewhat unconventional family that consisted of my sister, the two of us orphaned quite young, then raised by our great-aunt who had never wed or had other family.
Although not for lack of prospects, as they say. She explained that she had simply never found a man worth attaching herself to, as she put it. I was not certain of that, and suspected that there may have been one particular man along the way. However, it seemed that nothing had come of it.
And to be honest my great-aunt was quite…unique. At eighty-six years of age, she had traveled extensively, lived quite well. She was rumored to be wealthier than the Queen, and didn’t give a fig what anyone said or thought about the more colorful aspects of her life.
I adored her, and it had been said on more than one occasion that we had a great deal in common.
She had lived long enough to experience a great many things, had acquired a considerable amount of wisdom along the way, was unusually curious, and could be fearless when adventuring or learning about new things.
Except for the ‘damned telephone,’ as she referred to it—noisy, bothersome, and people wanted to talk on it all day long. Didn’t they have anything else to do?
Such as building a jungle in her solar, complete with a monkey, so that she could prepare for our safari. Or having a replica of the River Nile in Egypt built in the grand hall at her home at Sussex Square for a celebration.
All these months later, the boat was still there.
“Quite unique and exciting, don’t you think?” she had replied when asked if she intended to have it removed.
